


Fragments

by newrromantics



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrromantics/pseuds/newrromantics
Summary: a study of cordelia chase and her relationships.





	Fragments

i.

You are sweet, sweet sixteen and at the edge of the world. It’s your party and you can cry if you want to but you have no more tears left to cry. Your dress is sequin gold, eyes are smokey, lips are blood red. Looking into the mirror and all you see is a stranger blinking back at you: brown hair tumbling around shoulders in massive curls, the smudged mascara bleeding into your eyeshadow, the smudge of lipstick and the dress that feels like a foreign stranger on your body.

He had said he had loved you but he hadn’t meant it. It’s a lesson you’ve gotta learn, _they never mean it._  Harmony had told you a long time ago that you couldn’t trust any boys. _It’s me and you._  But that’s a lonely way to live and you crave the fleeting success of owning a heart, only to tear it out and leave it out to dry up on the sidewalk before moving onto the next victim.

You are your mother’s daughter, you learn the hard way. You like the easy chase, the capture of a heart, the flattering attention bestowed upon you. You like it until you don’t. And then they rip it out from under you before you can do it to them.  _You’re never going to amount to anything_. She’s told you before, cigarette falling from her fingertips and the distinct smell of malt whiskey on her breath. 

From outside the bathroom door there is music playing, loud and pumping and angry. It’s the Spice Girls and you can hear Harmony calling your name, fists knocking angrily on the door. “Open up, you stupid bitch!” She’s calling, the words slurred. You are sweet, sweet sixteen. But all it feels is bittersweet. You wash your hands, damp your face with a cold cloth and flash yourself the brightest and boldest smile in the mirror. It is a routine. It is a facade. It is the only way you know how to survive.

You are your mother’s daughter. You are a survivor. An actress who can pull off any part when the occasion calls for it. Or, well, actually you can’t but nobody cares enough to look close enough to see the cracks in your appearance.

“I’m coming!” You call out, rolling your eyes. That needy bitch always wants something from you.  


She’s standing outside your door in a slinky, silk hot pink. Her hair is ruffled and her pupils are dilated, she’s spinning in circles with a red solo cup in one hand. “You’re so pretty, Cordy.” She’s telling you.

“Whatever.” You bite back, pushing her out of the way with a swing of your hip as you storm back into your party. He’s on your couch, his hand on another girl’s thigh and you can feel the burning imprint of his palm on your skin. The way his lips feel burning hot against your neck. He’s another mistake in a long line of many.  


You throw back shot after shot until you can’t feel your body. You find your way into Harmony’s lap, right in front of him. The skirt of your dress riding up your thighs, black lace peeking out. Your hands run up and down Harmony’s face, sloppy and messy, getting tangled in her hair. She’s laughing and laughing and laughing, and you thank her for being your best friend as you lean down and your lips meet in the middle. The room erupts into a chorus of shouts as the two of you sloppily kiss, tongues pushing against each other in a way that’s only pleasant when you’re drunk. You’re hot and bothered, wriggling around in her lap, grinding into her hips as you deepen the kiss. Harmony is the first to pull away, needing air and you’re needing something more than she can give you.

“I’ll be back,” You mumble, pulling yourself away from her. You stumble on your heels on your way to the bathroom, catching the eye of a boy who’ll never love you the way you need to be loved. He won’t even love you at all. You open the bathroom door, falling onto the floor, pulling your dress up and slipping a hand into your underwear. It’s not really enough, you think of his face and Harmony’s lips as your curl your fingers, rubbing hurriedly and impatiently–  


There’s knocking on the door, again. “Go away!” You yell, annoyance bubbling in your chest. But they’re pushing it open and there’s enough space between you and the door for them to slip into. You spot the hot pink and then Harmony and she locks the door behind her before falling down onto the floor next to you.

“I love you, you know.” She tells you softly. You know. You’ve always known.  


“Shut up.” You roll your eyes. Everything feels dizzy and you feel so sad. Now that’s a secret: Cordelia Chase is capable of complex emotions. It feels like you’re drowning sometimes, like your emotions are an ocean that are crashing into you and holding you down underneath the water. Drowning you.  


“You don’t have to love me back. It’s not what I need.” Harmony says, before sliding down, her head disappearing into your thighs.  


ii.

He kisses you when it’s the end of the world.

There is fire falling all around you. Half your friends are dead or injured, the casualties unrecognisable when you look out into the crowd. Your hands are shaking as you pick up the sword, not from fear but anger.

This is the life you chose and it’s the life you wanted to live but it doesn’t make it fair or right. You put your life on the line day in and day out and the lot of you are repaid with this: the blood of your friends, pooling at your feet.

You’ve never seen him cry before. But he’s kneeling at a body he couldn’t save and there’s tears flowing freely. The truth is staring you in the face: none of you are making it out alive. The world is burning into flames and embers all around you, one of many predicted prophecies coming true. It’s another apocalypse but something in the air feels different.

You are older and wiser than you’ve ever been. You’re young but you’ve lived a hundred different lives. There is a part of you that is so tired that you want it all to end. You’ve given this life your best shot, tried your hardest and fought until you couldn’t fight anymore. But there’s a stronger part of you that wants to see this through to the end. There’s a sliver of you that doesn’t want to give up before you’ve had him, before the two of you get your shot.

But the two of you are destined to always miss each other. He kisses you when it’s the end of the world. A kiss of goodbye. A kiss of death.

“Angel,” Your hands are on his face, the blood seeping from his skin onto your fingertips. It’s a fitting name, because he’s been your angel in many ways; you wonder if you ever would have grown up without him, or if you’d still be wandering around Los Angeles as a lost little girl forever tainted with hidden disillusionment. He gave you a chance when no-one else believed you could be anything more than a shallowed, materialistic bitch. “I love you.” It’s the only time you’ve said it first but there’s no fear in your heart when it falls out; there is no worry that he won’t repeat the words or that he’ll turn his back on you and leave you because you’re not enough. You know he’s going to leave you tonight because you can see it in his eyes, that bravado and heroism that’s inspired you to find a strength in yourself that you didn’t know existed but it’s not a goodbye of rejection.  


“I love you.” He tells you. He might be the first boy to mean it.  


You kiss him once more, hot and heavy and saying everything you couldn’t possibly put into words and you let him slip out of your fingertips and sacrifice himself for the greater good. You feel a hurricane of emotions but beyond it all you feel at peace.

iii.

You have never loved like this. 

There she is, lounging on the bed, her head propped up on a pillow. There’s a book held loosely in her hand. It’s something for school, catching a glimpse of the word  _psych_. She looks up when you enter the room, her face brightening into a smile when she spots you. It always feels like it’s the first time you’re looking at her, the first time you’re realising that you’re falling in love with her. Every single time you look at her it all feels so brand new.

“Did you know childhood trauma can affect you for life?” She raises an eyebrow at that and you laugh as you crawl into bed with her. It’s been years since the two of you first found each other, longer since you first crashed into each other’s lives with a fierce and fury and rivalry.  


“Explains why we’re so screwed.” You joke, but it’s a light teasing as you cuddle into her. Both of you have come a long way from where you were, there are moments where both of you fall into bad habits. You’ll slam the doors and scream and she’ll push you away, and the two of you won’t talk about your emotions at all. But neither of you are scared and young anymore; there is no more raging, intense hormones dictating your life; there is no more war either of you are fighting.  


Buffy gave up slaying before the two of you reconnected and there was nothing left for you in Los Angeles.

But there is so much left for you here. Endless possibilities that are stretching on for miles in front of you. Secretly, you had always thought you’d become a dazzling starlet, famous for _something_  and live a life of glory before overdosing and dying young. You’d be remembered for years to come, the memory of your glamorous popularity immortalised in a film or the legend of your life, or something. Then you thought you’d save the world, save lives, live a short but meaningful life. You’d be spectacular but in secret. But you’d always seen an end. A blaze of glory and then a fiery end. You’d be something for a while and then you’d be nothing. You’d never once seen a different life for yourself: a life where the end was far, far away in the future.

But this life tastes so much sweeter than you could have ever imagined, as sweet as Buffy’s lips softly touching yours. Her fingers trailing down your arms and her book falling to the floor. She climbs on top of you, hands cradling your face as she deepens the kiss.

“Is she asleep?” She whispers in between kisses, voice breathless.  


“I just put her down.” You smile, thinking of the sweet little baby girl that is all yours; that is what the future offers you. You have never loved like this. You’d been willing to die before, countless times over, for yourself and for what was right but you’ve never felt like putting your life on the line to protect someone else. Not before you had Buffy, not before you had June.  


There is so much for you here. Later, you hear her crying and slip out of bed. On your way to the nursery you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror: bare-faced, hair tied back, dark circles underneath your eyes and a smile that shines. You recognise the face staring back at you.


End file.
